


Five Times Loki Saved Someone's Life (but Everyone Kept on Hating Him Anyway)

by carbonbased000



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/pseuds/carbonbased000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is one of the good guys. No, really.<br/>Gen, possibly future Loki/Sif.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Loki Saved Someone's Life (but Everyone Kept on Hating Him Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first piece of fanfiction EVER (except for a thankfully unpublishe Angel/Spike fic in - I guess - 1999?), I saw Thor, I developed a worrying crush on Loki, and I don't really know what the hell I'm doing. Help?  
> I have written only the first chapter but I decided to post it because otherwise I know I'll just bury it in a folder of shame somewhere -- I'd like to end this on a Loki/Sif note but I don't have it all planned yet so for now -- Gen it is.  
> Unbetaed because I don't know anybody who does this. If anybody is offended by my mistakes and wants to tell me what I did wrong, please do go ahead, I'll welcome any input.

The feast had been going on for a good number of hours. It had been called, as was usual, to celebrate the umpteenth victorious feat undertaken by Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three. As nice as it was to enjoy the excellent meal (and the mead, of course, let us not forget the mead) while seated in the midst of a hall full of fellow valiant warriors (in truth all of them quite drunk at this point of the night) and adoring maidens, Fandral was feeling strangely tired. Or maybe even not so strangely, as he had been the one to bear the brunt of this particular feat, and the ache in each and every one of his bones, increasingly hard to ignore, was witness to the hours spent slaying that especially vicious, many-headed and hard-dying monster. His tiredness may also be due to the copious amount of mead he had then proceeded to consume in the attempt to drive away from his mind the unpleasant images of the hundreds of small screaming heads, falling one after the other and restlessly growing anew from the trunk of the creature. By the gods, that had been a mightily disgusting creature. And clearly, the mead was not doing its job very well. Perhaps it was time to call it a night and seek some comfort in the arms of sleep, where at least he would be able to stop thinking about the hydra – at least, hoping that the foul beast would refrain from haunting his dreams, too.

Deeply immersed in his thoughts – stomach-turning thoughts of green-blood spatters and piercing shrieks – Fandral did not hear Thor approaching until the prince slapped him quite hard on his back, animated surely by only the best intentions.

«My friend! What is that dark shadow over your face? Is the mead not to your liking this evening?»

Fandral took a deep breath. Thor’s friendly slap had sparked a sharp pain in its ribcage and he found it quite hard to come up with a humorous retort. He aimed for a honest reply instead.

«I’m afraid I find myself in need of some rest, my friend. I shall leave you to feast.»

«I am sorry, Fandral» replied Thor in all seriousness. «I shall be sure to have a drink of mead for you.»

Fandral smiled and shook his head. «Thank you, Thor. I am sure the mead shall not go to waste, then. I just hope–» he stopped, suddenly feeling a fool for being afraid of a creature he had already killed.

But Thor, even in his half-inebriated state, was already frowning slightly, concern written clearly on his handsome features. «What is it, Fandral? Please, you know you can speak to me freely.»

«It is only that the creature we slew today--»

«You mean the creature _you_ slew today!»

Fandral laughed. «Thank you, my friend, but I did not slay it alone, no matter what you think!» He went on, before losing his nerve. «In truth, the monster left a sort of shadow on my mind, Thor. I keep hearing its screeches, and it’s like the colour of its blood veils my eyes.»

The frown was now back in full force on Thor’s face. He muttered something under his breath. Fandral thought he heard the name of the second prince among other words he could not make out. Then, Thor’s expression settled to one of resolution; he grabbed Fandral’s arm and told him firmly: «Come with me».

They slipped out of the hall unnoticed; at the other side of the great hall, Volstagg was telling one of his tales of dubious taste among the cheers and laughs of a rowdy crowd of warriors and maidens alike. Thor let his hand fall from Fandral’s arm and set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the princes’ bedchambers. It was not in front of his own quarters that he stopped, however, but at his brother’s door, and he began knocking in earnest. Fandral wondered for a moment whether Loki was in his rooms at all, as he had seen him that evening at the feast; but of course he had left early, as usual, to go and pore over his ancient magic tomes, or do to whatever the second prince chose to do with all the time he spent in solitude. There was a noise of bolts and latches unlocking, and another, and another. Fanrir knew for a fact that the other doors in the palace were not equipped with that many seals and catches, but it was no surprise that Loki had so enchanted the door to his private rooms. He had always liked his privacy, or maybe it would be better to call it his secrecy – even when he was a boy. And with reason, Fanrir thought: with all the pranks and mischief he administered to the unsuspecting populace, he did well to secure his quarters against possible vengeful repercussions. Then, the door opened and Loki, sitting at his writing table near the window at the other side of the room, gestured them inside. Predictably enough, three thick, dusty books lay open on the table in front of him, lit by the flames of a small silver branched candlestick.

«And what brings you two away from your well-deserved mead?» he asked with a wry smile, looking first at Thor, and then, with a curious glint in his eye, at Fandral.

Thor walked closer to his brother, pulling Fandral by its sleeve as one would a recalcitrant child. Addressing Loki, he explained: «You know of the creature Fandral slew today?»

«Yes, I do. And congratulations on the slaying, if I might say so.»

«Well, Fandral told me... Go on, Fandral, tell my brother what you told me.»

Fandral smiled tightly. He was not so crazy about the idea of showing vulnerability to the second prince. It was not that he did not trust him. He did. Loki was loyal to whom he chose to be, and as Thor’s closest friends, the Warriors Three had somehow been included in that very short list. However, Loki’s taste for mischief meant that no one was really immune from his misdeeds, and as all predatory creatures, he had a preference for choosing his victims among those already weakened. Noticing his hesitation, Loki mysteriously decided to come to his aid.

«Are you perhaps experiencing some... adverse effects, after the slaying?»

Fandral nodded and cautiously began explaining about the images stubbornly flashing before his eyes, about the persistent echoes of the creature’s cries, about the unusual tiredness, the ache that had settled deep in his bones.

Loki listened attentively, nodding a couple of times, but when Fandral stopped speaking, he spun on his heel in a whirl of black velvet and disappeared. Even if he would never admit it now, Fandral gaped. Thor laughed softly under his breath and reassured him that Loki had probably just gone to retrieve some book from the royal library. Sure enough, the second prince was back after less than a minute; he did carry a small book covered in dark green leather, which he promptly put on the open pages of the books standing on his desk, opening it at a place near the end with a whispered incantation, without touching it. His hands were occupied holding a glass vial full of a clear liquid, and a small contraption made of a dozen tiny leather pouches tied to each other with thin black string. After a cursory look at the green booklet, he put these things on another small table close to the bed and proceeded to dump into the vial the contents of three of the pouches. He watched the inert vial for a moment, then, muttering to himself, he unsheathed a thin knife that must have been hidden somewhere inside his ample velvet robe, and, extracting with the point of the blade a small amount from the powdered contents of a fourth pouch, added this last ingredient to the mixture.

Thor was watching the process with an amused expression and a fond gleam in his eye that told Fandral this was not the first time he watched his brother at work. It was, however, Fandral’s first time, and he had to admit it was quite an impressive sight: he had never seen Loki perform anything other than the spoken incantations that, this he would admit, were mightily useful in battle; in fact, he had never seen anyone perform any other kind of magic in front of his very eyes. The vial, to Loki’s obvious satisfaction, was now bubbling and creating a disquietingly pink foam that threatened to escape on the surface of the table below. With a resolute whisper from Loki, though, the foam stopped rising and began to change colour, first getting darker, a stormy purple-grey, and then progressively lighter, until it became perfectly white and, finally, translucent. Loki then grabbed the vial, asked Thor to get a glass from the shelf behind his shoulders, and poured most of the potion in it. That was, of course, when he told Fandral, impassively: «Drink».

Fandral wanted to protest, wanted to ask what the devil was in the hellish concoction, but Loki regarded him with an unimpressed stare, as like he knew what he was going to say. The prince had probably already heard it all before: magic was certainly one of the least noble activities according to the Asgardian traditions, and a sorcerer preparing potions was the very image presented to children to show what one should never do with his life. Fandral felt suddenly very small under Loki’s gaze, and quite rude, coming to the prince’s private quarters at night like this, asking him for help, only to then listen to his own prejudices against things he didn’t even know. He pursed his lips, nodded silently and took the glass Loki was offering to him.

The potion tasted like nothing at all. Fandral fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> PS - [the hydra](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/23/Hercules_slaying_the_Hydra.jpg/800px-Hercules_slaying_the_Hydra.jpg), originally slain by Hercules.  
> The only thing I slay is mythology.


End file.
